


Hypnotised

by ButterflyGhost



Category: due South
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Hypnotism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser gets hypnotised at an office party. Embarrassment and hijinks follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypnotised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vic32](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vic32/gifts).



 

Fraser blinked, and stared owlishly around the room. For a brief, unsettling moment he had no idea where he was, or what was going on. Then he remembered, and cringed. All around him the men and women of the twenty-seventh precinct were imbibing their beverages of choice, and... well, it would appear they were laughing at him. Though a fair few of them were applauding.

 

Ray was not applauding. Ray was sitting with his head in his hands, trying to make himself as small as possible.

 

Oh dear...

 

“Hey, Frase, why don't you sing to me like that,” Dewey said. It sounded almost... flirtatious. There were several guffaws around the room, but they seemed generally good humoured.

 

Helplessly Fraser looked at the stage hypnotist. “Uhm...” he said, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He wanted to ask what on earth he'd done, but was afraid of the answer. The man just smiled at him, clapped his hand on his back, and declared to the audience, “and there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The Singing Constable.”

 

“'The Musical Ride,'” came a female voice, raucously, from the back of the room. Fraser went bright scarlet at the implication, and fled, stage left.

 

…

 

“Hey, Frase,” came Ray's voice from behind him. “You okay buddy?”

 

“No,” he groaned, sinking onto a conveniently placed stool. If it hadn't been there he'd have surely sank to the floor... through the  floor, if God had any mercy. Which, obviously, He didn't.

 

“It wasn't that bad,” Ray said, unconvincingly. “You didn't do anything too bad.”

 

“Oh?” Fraser peeked at Ray, through his fingers, then covered his face again, feeling his cheeks heat up. This felt unpleasantly like the morning after... not a feeling he'd ever particularly enjoyed, and one he'd gone out of his way to avoid in recent years. He had no idea what he'd done, and even though there wouldn't be a hangover involved, he was convinced that there might still be hell (of some kind) to pay. “What... what did I do?”

 

“Uhm... well...” Ray cleared his throat. “You sang.”

 

“Sang?” That wasn't too bad, surely? The hypnotist could have made him dance like a chicken. At least, Fraser attempted to console himself, he could sing.

 

“Yeah.” Ray's face pinked. “You sang... er... a love song.”

 

“A... love... er...” Oh Good Lord. Fraser's mouth went dry, remembering Dewey's comment, and he forgot how to speak. His mind fled through all the love songs he knew (and damn his eidetic memory) he was sure that it was bound to be the most embarrassing song in his repertoire...

 

“Yeah... and... I'd better warn you, 'cause they're gonna razz you at work about it. You, er, you kinda... sang it at me.”

 

Oh God, Fraser thought, kill me now. He groaned and closed his eyes. Please, he begged heaven silently. Don't let me have called Ray 'my bonny love.' To his horror, Ray seemed to confirm his worst suspicions.

 

“A Scottishy type love song...”

 

Perhaps he was lucky... perhaps he'd sung something in Gaelic... or even gobbledygook, if he didn't know the lyrics that well. To be fair, he'd never really listened that closely to the lyrics when Gramps sang. He was always too busy laughing at the faces the old man was pulling at him. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, and mingled with his panic. A man could sing love songs without it being overtly romantic, surely? Although, unlike Gramps, he didn't have the option of pulling out his teeth and gurning at the audience, reducing them to tears of laughter. Perhaps he had simply sung to Ray as a comedy turn, as Gramps used to sing to him, when they were out fishing on the ice. If so he'd eventually live it down, and nobody would know that every song he heard these days reminded him of Ray...

 

“What,” he whispered, still keeping his eyes shut, “what did I sing?”

 

“Five hundred miles,” said Ray, and cleared his throat.

 

Fraser opened his eyes, and looked puzzled. “I... I don't know of a song by that name.”

 

“You must do,” Ray said. “You sang it. The Duck boys joined in on the chorus.”

 

Fraser shook his head, feeling lost.

 

“You know, it goes like this...” Ray cleared his throat and sang under his breath: 'and I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door...'”

 

“Oh Good Lord,” Fraser muttered. “I think I heard a song like that once...”

 

“Yeah, well apparently your freaky hypnotised brain thought it would be a good idea to sing it at me.” Ray managed a grin. “It's not that bad,” he said. “Everyone else was drunk. And you were hypnotised.”

 

“You're neither.”

 

“Yeah, well, I got work early in the morning.”

 

“So do I,” Fraser commiserated. “Assuming I don't die of shame in the interim.”

 

“I don't think anyone ever died of shame, Frase,” Ray said, and patted his shoulder. “Come on buddy, I'll drive you back to the Consulate.”

 

Perhaps nobody had ever died of shame, but, Fraser thought, as he looked his boots, maybe they'd wanted to. “I will never,” he declared, “ever, volunteer for anything again.”

 

“Sure you will,” Ray said, aiming for casual, and pretty much achieving it. “Just not to be hypnotised. Now you know how I felt...”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“When you hypnotised us all that time.”

 

“Ah, well... I'm sorry about that. It was an accident after all...”

 

“Yeah. The post hypnotic crap wasn't though, was it?”

 

“Uhm... no. I'm sorry.” Fraser felt himself flush again... good Lord, was it possible for one man to blush so much? “It seemed like a good idea at the time... I've already apologised.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Ray grinned. “And it wasn't that bad. What, you made me polite for like a minute and a half, and you got the ice queen to give you a day off. You're not like a master criminal. You coulda got me to do anything.”

 

Fraser felt the heat pool further south than his pinked cheeks, at the thought that sprang unbidden at Ray's words. “Well,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Technically you can't get somebody under hypnosis to do something that goes against their principles, so I couldn't have got you to do anything...”

 

Ray shrugged. “That's good to know. So... you really wanted to sing Scottish love songs to me?”

 

Oh dear...

 

“Hey, buddy. Don't worry about it, just joking. Come on, let's get you home.” Ray's voice stuttered. “Back to your home. The Consulate. You know what I mean...”

 

Fraser sighed. Ah, the Consulate. Not home then... just where he lived.

 

“Right you are, Ray,” he said, sounding at least to his own ears a little more settled.

 

“'Kay,” Ray smiled. “Dief probably needs a turn round the block by now anyway.”

 

Fraser nodded, and stood. Ray's smile was trembling, slightly uncertain, and for a moment the urge to kiss it better was so potent that Fraser froze, impulse struggling against control so hard that he couldn't move forward or back.

 

“Fraser?”

 

“Yes, sorry.” Fraser felt his thumb drag across his eyebrow, and cleared his throat. “Consulate. Early start.”

 

And if, on the drive home, he stared rather more resolutely through the window than was his wont, avoiding the glimpse of Ray's profile, well, that wasn't the end of the world, was it? For the next few days he would take his knocks, no doubt, and then the jokes would die down, and he'd be able to look at Ray without blushing. And Ray would never have to know that... well, that he really would walk a thousand miles. More. To be the man who...

 

Dear Lord, he was in trouble.

…

 

Ray glared at himself in the mirror, scrubbing his teeth fiercely. He hadn't slept well, and today was gonna be a doozy. He could imagine already how much fun the bullpen would be. He only hoped that Dewey would be sufficiently hung over he wouldn't have too much to say.

 

Yeah... right.

 

And, okay, so last night on the ride home Frase did his tin soldier impersonation, which, let's face it, was probably to be expected. Fraser was good at that, and it might take in everyone else in the known universe... but it sure as hell wasn't gonna take Ray in. No way he'd let him get away with it. He'd got past that Mountie façade the first day he ever met Fraser, and he wasn't gonna let the guy pull the shutters down on him. Not now.

 

So... what the hell did that song mean? Not the song so much, he knew what that meant. Just... did Fraser really mean to sing it that way? Not just at him, but to him. “'When I'm lonely, I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you...'” Okay, no mistaking those lyrics. And they should have sounded cheesy. Not to mention odd, since as far as he could tell Fraser's Scottish accent was weirdly perfect. Like he was channelling some Fraser incarnation of generations past. But... it didn't sound cheesy. Or even like Fraser was putting on a voice. Sounded like maybe he meant it...

 

He couldn't though, could he? Because Frase would never say anything like that when he was in his right mind. Maybe he just had the song stuck in his head. Maybe he was only singing at Ray because, well, he was the nearest thing he had to a friend here. Not because he... not because he...

 

Gargh! What the hell did Fraser want anyway? Fraser never, ever told anyone what the hell he wanted. Probably he didn't even know himself...

 

Huh. Well, one thing at least had come out of yesterday... the stage hypnotist had given Fraser a post hypnotic suggestion, to be triggered by a codeword. And the guy had whispered it into Fraser's ear, and used it several times, but yeah... subtle he wasn't. So, Ray wasn't Fraser, but he could sight read a little. And this one word he was familiar with. Very familiar with... and maybe it was a sign or something. He saw the guy moving his lips, and knew the word. Fraser's code word, the word that would slip him back into a calm and receptive state.

 

No, Ray told himself firmly. I am not a perv... I'm not gonna use the word like that. Just...

 

Once in his life Fraser had to just do something that made him happy, right? Stand up for himself once, eat too much ice-cream, just have some damned fun.

 

So... yeah. Next time Ray said the magic word, Fraser was gonna stand up for himself. Do something that made Fraser happy. And... cool.  It would be kinda cool to see that.

 

Ray ran his tongue over his minty fresh teeth, and scraped his chin. Nah... he'd skip shaving today. He'd go for the grizzled look. He had a feeling (God knew where he'd picked it up from) that Fraser preferred him stubbly. Maybe it was just wishful thinking... but although Fraser criticised his scruffy clothing, his lack of neatness, he'd never once criticised his spiky hair or rough cheeks. Feeling a little foolish, Ray started to spike up his hair. So, even if he was wrong, even if Fraser didn't in fact like it, Ray liked it. He rubbed his cheek with the back of his knuckles, feeling a slow silk drag against his fingers. For a moment he imagined Fraser's hand touching his face, then shook his head, roughly.

 

Go to work, get it over with...

 

And actually, it wasn't too bad. Okay, so the minute he walked through the door Dewey started to serenade him, but Huey cuffed his partner over the back of his head, and Dewey laughed, and gave Ray the thumbs up. Which was a bit strange, really, like he was being congratulated for something. Quite what though, he had no idea.

 

Nothing too interesting today, just lots and lots of paperwork, and he could swear there was something wrong with the clock. He looked up every half hour or so to discover only a few moments had past. Damn...

 

It took a long time for noon to roll around.  Finally the endless morning ended, and he managed to make his getaway before Frannie's fifth attempt to get him to 'talk' about Fraser's performance last night. Oh God, he really hoped she didn't know what he was hoping... Poor Frannie. She certainly looked like a little girl who'd just had her ice-cream cone stolen by her big brother. Jeez. Speaking of big brothers... Vecchio, when he got back, was never gonna forgive him, on any front... For upsetting his kid sister, or for... whatever the hell Fraser was doing last night, up on stage.

…

 

“Hey, Benton Buddy!” (Privately Ray was very proud of his nonshally... whatever... cool performance. 'Cause let's face it, he wasn't feeling exactly nonshally. Fact was, he was shitting bricks here. Still, he was undercover. Way undercover... So he smiled at Fraser like he wasn't on the verge of a heart attack, and pretended everything was exactly as it had been before his best friend sang his undying devotion in front of God and every gossip in the Two Seven.

 

Fraser looked up at him, and blushed. Jeez... Poor guy wasn't just blushing, he was tugging at his collar.

 

“Ah, Ray, I'm... er... glad to see you. I, er...”

 

Shit. Fraser was stuttering. That couldn't be good, could it? Fraser stuttering, blushing, tugging his collar... and there. Damn. Rubbing his eyebrow. Guy was about to have a full fledged meltdown.

 

Okay... nothing to lose here. And after all, Ray was just getting his own back. Fraser had done the post hypnotic suggestion thing on him, hadn't he? Turn about was fair play...

 

“'Turtle.'” Ray blurted out, hoping the choice of magic word really did mean something. Fraser froze for a moment, and Ray's heart sank. It hadn't worked. He was gonna have some explaining to do...

 

Or... maybe not. Fraser's face relaxed, and he sank back into his chair, practically slouching. Then... oh dear God. Then he smiled.

 

“Hi Ray,” Fraser said, dreamily.

 

Shit, this hypnotism stuff worked. Fraser was looking just as happy and relaxed as he had done yesterday, on stage, when the hypnotist told him that the trigger word ('turtle,' who'd a thunk it?) would bring him to his 'happy place.' Yeah... Fraser looked pretty blissed out. Definitely in a happy place.

 

“Can you hear me Frase?”

 

“Yes, Ray. I can hear you.”

 

“Good. 'Cause I gotta tell you something.”

 

“Anything, Ray.”

 

Oh Jeez, that went right to his... er... what would Fraser call it? Nether regions, probably. It went right to his nethers. Tingled. 'Anything?' Ray had way too much power here.

 

“Look, Fraser. I gotta suggestion for you. You know when you wake up?”

 

“Yes, Ray?”

 

“I want you to stand up for yourself. Don't just do what everyone else wants. Do something that's good for you too. Okay? Can you do that?”

 

“Yes, Ray.”

 

“So, next time the ice queen barks at you...”

 

“Inspector Thatcher barks?”

 

“I mean, next time she's bossy and pushing you around, stand up for yourself. And... let loose once in a while. Do something that makes you happy. You can do that, right?”

 

“Yes, Ray.”

 

“Cool. Okay. On the count of three, you're gonna wake up, and you're gonna stop feeling so stressed out. You're gonna feel happy, and cool, and everything's gonna be all right. You got that?”

 

“Yes Ray.”

 

“One. Two. Three...”

 

Fraser blinked, then smiled. One of his radiant 'let's blind people', 'I am a spotlight' smiles. “Hello, Ray.”

 

“Er... hello Frase.” Ray gulped. He'd forgotten just how... er... was there a non gay way to say this? How damned beautiful Fraser looked when he was giving his truly happy smile.

 

Beautiful, and about ten years younger. Younger even. Like he was a kid who was gonna play hookey or something...

 

Then, of course, the Ice Queen had to stick her head around the door.

 

“Constable,” she declared. “I need to have a look at the Allinson report...”

 

Fraser's face, and whole body froze.

 

“Constable.” Thatcher stalked to Fraser's desk and stared at him. “Are you feeling quite all right?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” he murmured, “quite all right.”

 

Shit, Ray thought, watching with horror as Fraser's pink tongue flicked over his lower lip. He's gonna do that post hypnotic crap, just like I said... next time the Inspector barks, I told him to do something to make him happy. He's gonna kiss her... What the hell was I thinking...

 

Fraser's eyes moved, from Thatcher to Ray and...

 

Again, that blinding smile.

 

And mouth...

 

 

He wasn't going to kiss Thatcher at all...

…

 

Constable Fraser had done many strange things under her command, but this was, possibly, the strangest. There she was, trying to get his attention, and failing, utterly. All she needed was clarification on some minor paperwork, not too much to ask for, surely? But the Constable's eyes went dark and deep, and swept past her.

 

“Ray,” he said, and swooped at his partner. No other word for it. He swooped. He scooped. He smothered. He pushed him back against the wall, and wrapped himself around the other man, like an octopus, or a highly motivated spider monkey.

 

“Oomph!”

 

Ray looked, for a moment, as startled as she'd expect, given that he was an apparently heterosexual man on the receiving end of a decidedly male kiss. But only for a moment. Seconds later the American's arms were round Fraser's red clad back, and he was returning the kiss with gusto. Tongues were involved, and more grunting and shoving than was entirely seemly under the watchful gaze of Her Majesty's portrait.

 

Meg sighed. Ah well, she thought. She'd been kissed by Fraser. She wasn't surprised the man could kiss the straight right out of any man. For a brief moment he'd kissed the gay right out of her. (Only for a moment though.)

 

“Dismissed,” she said, with a twinge of regret. She had the feeling she'd not be kissing Fraser again, any time soon. She'd have to sort out the Allinson papers herself. And maybe she should phone Stella Kowalski again... Just a thought...

…

 

Hot, wet, lush Mountie mouth. Kissing him. Oh... God yeah.

 

Uh oh...

 

This was not Fraser in his right mind. This was Fraser turtled out of his mind. Shit. And they were making out in the Consulate. And Thatcher was gonna fire Fraser's ass...

 

“'Turtle!'” Ray winced, and clenched himself against the inevitable recriminations. He shoulda 'turtled' the minute Fraser kissed him, but damnit, he couldn't think.

 

Fraser didn't stop kissing him.

 

“Hey, Fraser,” Ray dragged his mouth away. Fraser was panting against his ear, and damn, that was distracting... “Didn't you hear what I said? 'Turtle!' You can wake up now.”

 

“I heard what you said, Ray,” Fraser said, though his voice did sound rather muffled, on account of the fact that his tongue was, at least some of the time, fighting its way back into Ray's mouth rather than his own.

 

“So, why aren't you awake?”

 

“Ah.” Fraser pulled back, flushed, smiling, and rather tousled looking. (Like he could look any sexier in that uniform.) “I think I am awake.”

 

“How come you're kissing me then?”

 

“Well, as I recall your post hypnotic suggestion was that I do something to make me happy.”

 

“Hang on, you're not supposed to remember what I said...”

 

“Well, it's a little bit cloudy, but I do remember you saying I should do something to make me happy. And...” he moved forward, and nipped Ray's lower lip. “This makes me happy.”

 

“Yeah, but... in front of the Queen?”

 

Fraser looked up at the portrait, and pulled a face. “I don't think she'd mind too much, Ray.”

 

“What about the Ice Queen?”

 

“Ah... well...” Fraser blushed, and made a noise suspiciously like a giggle. “I understand that gossip about my performance last night has made its way to the Inspector's ears.”

 

“Okay...” Ray took a breath. “So, we could like, say that you had a... whatchumacallit, a temporary lapse of reason.”

 

“Not so temporary, I hope,” Fraser murmured, and kissed him again.

 

“Constable,” came a sharp voice from the Ice Queen's office.

 

Oops... Ray and Fraser turned guiltily toward Inspector Thatcher.

 

And yeah, for a day full of surprises, this day had one more. Thatcher smiled.

 

“You have a few sick days accumulated, Constable. You've obviously come down with a nasty case of the flu.”

 

“Inspector?”

 

“Oh, please.” She tried for stern, but couldn't quite manage it. “Get a room,” she suggested. “The Queen's Suite is unoccupied at the moment. Just don't make too much noise.”

 

“Hey,” Ray gawped. “Did she just call us queens?”

 

“I have no idea. I stopped listening after 'get a room.'”

 

So... they did.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago. My writing style has evolved since then, but it still makes me laugh, so here it is. 
> 
> The song is by The Proclaimers, and here it is. (Is it just me, or do the brothers look a wee bit like RayK? Or is it just the glasses?)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM0sTNtWDiI


End file.
